Wandering Child
by lyssanoelle
Summary: Meg has always gone looking for things she shouldn't.  Little experiment/plot bunny that wouldn't leave me alone.  Rate T for possible future chapters.


**A/N: I'm sorry if this is awful, but this plot bunny won't leave me alone. I haven't drafted this at all, for the simple fact that I'm in the middle of something else right now. I'm not sure where this will go, but we'll see.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Phantom of the Opera.**

"_Meg, he's after me. . ."_

"_He welcomes you to his opera house. . "_

"_I've seen him! Can I ever forget that sight? Can I ever escape from that face? So distorted, deformed, it was hardly a face. . ."_

"_Keep your hand at the level of your eyes. . ."_

"_Please, monsieur, there's nobody there, and if there is. . . well, then it must have been a ghost!"_

"_He's here, the Phantom of the Opera. . ."_

So many times I had heard about him, so many times people had told me about him, warned me against him. He was a murderer.

But, something told me he was more. He composed, and made art. Yes, he killed. Yes, he was trying to earn the affection of my best friend, whom would never return such feelings.

My mother told me not to go with the police. And at first, I did listen to her. But I've never been one to just sit around. And he was destroying my home. I had grown up here, in the opera house, and learned everything I knew in the confiding walls. He was destroying it.

I knew the way down, from rumors, urban legends that floated around the dormitories. A whole pack of policemen were following me, and earlier, when they had tried to ask my name, I acted as if I could simply not speak because of the smoke. They shrugged the story off, and let me lead them.

We were wading through a long river, and being as small as I am, the water was high up on my legs, almost touching my waist. I had a torch in one hand, leading my way down.

We reached his sanctum, a small island amid the lake, full of objects that made the mysterious man look like a hoarder. A grand organ rested in one corner, and a bed in the shape of a swan rested in the other. I recognized the bed, a prop from one of the operas when I was very young. I vaguely remembered that the bed had gone missing as soon as the show was over, an even that had almost everyone in the company gossiping and hiding behind closed doors in whispers. It died down after a while, as people found better things to talk about.

Wading through the lake, we all made our way to the island, expecting to see the Phantom hiding behind something, but to the shock of all, it seemed as though he had disappeared. I broke free from the group, and began to look on my own. Shards of glass littered the floor, and as I investigated, I found many mirrors, all broken. They were shattered, destroyed.

The men were scouring the place, taking no regard to anything that could be of value, dumping loads of music and books into the lake. It made me shudder a bit, thinking of that. For all anyone could have known, those small bits of sheet music could have been more works of genius.

Or craziness.

I was more careful in my search, trying not to step on anything. I was looking down at the floor, examining the pure junk beneath me, when something pure white caught my eye. I knelt down, gingerly moving bits of paper and old figurines. Beneath all the rubble was something I would never expect to see without it's owner.

The mask.

White as snow and cold as ice, I almost dropped it. I stopped myself though, examining the porcelain piece. Thoughts raced through my mind, and it was almost ad if I was holding a piece of the Phantom in my very hands.

And then it dawned on me.

He would never leave this behind. No one had seen his face until previously that evening, during the show. He was gone, and he had left it here. Turning around to the guards, I slid it behind my back, not wanting to hand it over to them.

"I think he's gone. He must have escaped somehow."

They all grunted, and some nodded, talking amongst themselves about leaving before the whole place burned down. They started on their way back up, but seemed to forget about me, for none of them turned back to see if I was coming along.

I let them go, and I didn't call out for any of them. I continued walking around, exploring this man's inner sanctum, before I took a seat on the small bench near the organ. My eyes flickered around the room, for I knew he had to be here somewhere. If he had left through the opera house, we would have seen him.

Maman always told me to look for things that seemed unusual. This whole place was unusual to me, but I tired to put my mind into the mind of the Phantom. Every now and then, my eyes would catch on a mirror, and I would see a distorted image of myself, broken up in all of the wooden gaps.

Between two mirrors, a long, burgundy curtain was hung over what seemed to be an opening. This caught my attention, for what could one need a curtain for with no windows? I rose from my spot on the bench, and walked towards it, gently pulling it back.

To my surprise, there was a rather large hallway, dimly lit, and very cold. I stepped in carefully, listening for any signs of life. I heard something coming from the end, and not wanting to give up, followed the sound, walking slowly, with the porcelain mask still in my hands.

He was there.

The Phantom, the ghost, the man that ruined everything I had known.

And he was sobbing.

**A/N: Hm. I'm honestly not sure how I feel about this. I'm not really too fond of writing in first person, so it was a bit of a challenge. I suppose this can be thought of as a prologue of sorts, and I'll add to this story as time goes on. However, I'm apologizing now if it isn't updated often. I'm very busy. . . rehearsals, homework, and other things.**

**I really would love reviews though. . . **


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